Between Shadows
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: An encounter on the train between Haymitch and Katniss almost turns into something more. Haymitch/Katniss, Oneshot. For the Girl on Fire ficathon.


**Disclaimer: **The odds are not in my favor to own rights to stuff.**  
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**A/n: **So at this point, I've come to realize I ship Katniss with pretty much everyone. But when I originally found this promo on the ficathon, I was surprised to find myself suddenly writing Katniss/Haymitch, followed by devouring everyone else's (better written) fills. There's just something so compelling and tragic about these two, and how they're so similar and different at the same time.

**Prompt: **___haymitch/katniss; a nightly encounter on the train_ (For beethemonster)

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**Between Shadows**

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" came his gruff voice from the doorway.

Her back was turned and her thoughts had been far away, back home with Prim, her mother and Gale, that she hadn't heard him shuffling in. Katniss started and snapped, "Shouldn't you be passed out somewhere?"

Haymitch chuckled and she could hear the clink of him retrieving bottles of liquor from the cabinet. She assumed he would get his alcohol and go back to his room, so it surprised her when he joined her on the cushy couch facing the large window. Moonlight splashed across their feet, calves and knees. She liked the curve where the light cut off and ended in shadow on her thighs.

"I can't sleep." She finally said quietly, still staring out at the landscape beyond the glass. She was glad the train had stopped to refuel and that there was no station on this side of the train to obscure the view. Everything looked peaceful and untouched, and it filled her with longing.

Beside her, Haymitch grunted and gestured to the tumbler in his hand. "Why do you think I need this?"

She didn't know what to say that and said nothing instead.

"You scared?"

"No." She answered harsh and quick, turning to glare at him. They both knew that wasn't true, but he wasn't going to call her on the lie.

"Good."

Haymitch's shoulders seemed slumped in defeat already and they hadn't even gotten to the Capitol. Suddenly there were tears in her eyes, blurring her vision, blending shadow and light like water color, and a rising feeling of panic crowding her chest and her heart – this was real, this was happening, she was going to die in a matter of weeks, of days. She was going to kill or be killed and it doesn't matter what she promised Prim about coming home and winning because there's too much left to chance and fate's never been her friend.

_I don't want to – I'm not ready to – _

She wanted to say it, wanted to say something, but there was nothing he could say in return. Nothing to make her feel better, nothing to help her sleep. He tossed back the last of the amber liquid in his glass and let out a long sigh and she wished she could ask what he was thinking and he would answer.

He caught her staring then, his eyes sad and deep. Without preamble or warning, she leaned forward to taste his lips, confused by her own action – and by his reaction as he started kissing her back, unsure at first then suddenly fiercely, hungrily. Just as suddenly as it began, it ended, him yanking back as though she were abruptly too hot to touch and he'd been burned.

"Katniss," he began, shaking his head, panting. They'd crossed a line, they both knew it. He turned away from her, distracted, conflicted.

"I've never…" She trailed off, her voice cracking and getting lost in her throat, too thick with emotion. _Been with anyone_. She finished in her head.

His mask, his surliness was back – she could see it immediately. Haymitch leaned back into the couch, a long sigh that came from somewhere deep and tortured escaping his lips. He seemed so much older and broken than he had only a second ago. "I know, sweetheart. But you don't want me." His tone was meant to be gentle, but it came out biting – nearly every word he ever said did.

"Maybe I do." She replied quietly, but without much conviction. Maybe she did, maybe she didn't – did it matter at this point? Did anything she want, or need, or not, matter?

He shook his head heavily and stood up, grabbing the bottle he'd retrieved from the cabinets earlier, now half-empty. Whatever this was, had been, it was over, and was never happening again, that was clear. She watched the shadowy lines of his back as walked away. Over his shoulder before he was gone he slurred,

"See you at breakfast."


End file.
